Rainbow Lustre
by S e r p e r i o r
Summary: Beginning the night Itachi offered his red-painted hand to her, requesting for her to desert Konoha with him; seven colors, seven instances.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

i — **red**

I couldn't fathom what demonic sorcery could possibly be taking place during this woesome midnight hour. That was the only legitimate explanation I could come up with. Honestly, I mean, come on, this all had to be some sort of a deceptive illusion or something, right? Or maybe some clever, twisted genjutsu that was cast upon me by one of the more spiteful preteens when I had my back turned earlier. Yes, that had to be it! After all, the moon wouldn't appear quite so **red**dish in the ominously darkened sky, and the crickets and nocturnal owls (which were always so incredibly and irritatingly loud at nightfall) wouldn't be so eerily silent and lenient so as to allow humans like me some proper shuteye.

But what disturbed me most of all was Uchiha Itachi, who stood perfectly still at a mere several feet before me. His lean physique and back, so straight and well-postured as normalcy dictated for those of his prestigious clan, was to me, and I couldn't see his face. And for a reason I couldn't precisely articulate in my hazed mind, I was glad that I couldn't. I had caught him in his tracks, just at the outskirts of the village, when he looked as though he were about to depart from Konoha. It didn't seem like he was going off on a top-secret mission, either. (He tended to get a lot of those assigned to him from the Hokage, I knew.)

The second I saw him speeding out from the direction of the Uchiha district with a dangerous **red** glint in his eyes, I immediately knew things were _not_ okay. My feet had sprung to life on their own at that point, and I chased after him as stealthily as I could. He probably picked up fast on the fact that I was tailing him. I may run pretty quick for a girl my age (hey, the task of having to escape from youkai all the time had its benefits, too), but in no way am I quiet enough. At least, that's what I was told in this era; darn ninja and their sensitive hearing.

And now, here we are, standing on the cold cement pavement, wordless and without sound—and what is that **red **liquid staining the tips of his fingers? It bothers me…

"I—Itachi," I croak out. All right, I hadn't intended to sound so feeble, but you know what? I'm scared. My intuition is telling me that everything tonight is horribly, _horribly_ wrong. My body is trembling and I don't even know why. The only thing I know right now is that Uchiha Itachi, my first friend since I had ended up in this bizarre, ninja-dominated time, was acting totally unlike himself. Sure, he's always been the mysterious and quiet type, albeit powerful and respectably skilled in combat, but he's never acted in such… a questionable way. Right now with the way things were heading, and my innate senses repeatedly screaming "DANGER" at me, I wasn't so sure if chasing after Itachi was the wisest decision I made this evening.

His **red**-stained fingers twitch, ever so slightly and in a manner that makes it all too easy to miss the insignificant movement. I'm ashamed of myself for thinking, in just the scarcest of seconds, that he is going to reach for the katana strapped to his back and, with the liquid-esque grace that is rightfully his, slice me clean across the chest or skewer me through with it. (I get this unsettling feeling that he's done plenty of that tonight…)

But no. Instead, my first friend from this curious era turns and offers his hand to me. His palm is facing up, and now that I study it more closely, I can see that I was right about my suspicions earlier. Itachi's fingers, which are painted **red**, are painted with the _blood_ of his kin. My eyes widen and my own hands shoot up to cover my mouth, stifling my sudden cry. The shaking in my bones is getting worse now, and I swear I feel a tad too dizzy. My heart is thumping dynamically in my chest, ringing in my cold ears. My vision is hampered by a flimsy veil of **red**.

"Will you come with me, Kagome?" he asks. "I need you by my side."

And in my overwhelming despair and shock, all I can process is: _How can a teenage boy sound so calm after what he just did? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

ii — **orange**

You know, I find myself often wondering, _Just how difficult is it for a girl to finally get a break? _It's bad enough that I wasn't able to stay in the Feudal Era with all my traveling companions _nor _go back home to Mama, Souta, Jii-chan and all my modern-day friends (I wonder if those silly air-headed girls of mine still remember me even, sigh). It's bad enough that during the prime years of my high school life, I was sucked into a mysterious pink vortex at the bottom of an old antiquated well, and emerged in a world several hundred years prior on the timeline. It's bad enough that for over a year, I risked my life daily combating bloodthirsty youkai to hunt tiny, sparkly little shards that attracted much more attention than your average fifty karat diamond ring.

Oh no, certainly even after completing the Shikon no Tama, the fates decided they hadn't had enough fun toying with me. The stupid jewel had chosen all on its own to suck me into a pink and **orange**-ish vortex that materialized solely out of thin air, and threw me down none too gently in an era that was overrun with—you got it, ninja. Who would have thought?

A reticent boy named Uchiha Itachi found bedraggled old me, and I suppose he took pity and that's why he stopped training (that's what he said he'd been doing) to help me. My teary, dirt-speckled face and ragged school uniform probably did the trick. It didn't help by any means that I had just participated in a fierce showdown with a megalomaniacal monster named Naraku minutes earlier. After being led by the nonchalant Uchiha Itachi to the understanding monarch of his village—Konoha, he called it, and the wizened ruler was referred to as "Sandaime Hokage"—there wasn't much else too exciting that ensued.

All in all, I had no choice but to accustom myself to this odd new world. It wasn't easy at first; trust me, I kicked and screamed til my toes were throbbing in pain and my throat hoarse and parched. That's how frustrated I was. Even now, I wish for nothing but to see the gang in Sengoku Jidai again, and my family and friends in the modern time. Unfortunately, I'm just stuck in the middle between both groups, quite literally—err, chronologically.

Now I've somehow ended up getting involved with a crime syndicate going by the name of Akatsuki, and I realize a life of leisure and relaxation is near impossible for me.

Itachi has told me that the reason he's brought me along with him is because of my healing abilities. He seems convinced that I'm much more valuable to keep around as opposed to a professional medic-nin, though I'm not so sure about that. I've learned a thing or two from Kaede that could undoubtedly come in handy in many situations, but I don't know if I can be entrusted with a bloody, gaping wound and feel confident about mending it perfectly. I hope said prospect won't ever come up, and it hasn't so far.

"Kagome."

Pein calls for me and I peer up, torn away from my contemplations. His spiky **orange **hair is the first thing that catches my attention, and then it is his pair of ghoulish gray eyes.

"Yes?" I ask quietly, avoiding direct eye contact and averting my gaze elsewhere. I'm not gonna lie, he _is _intimidating. There's something distinct that sets him apart from Naraku and the youkai I've dealt with in the past—even the formidable Sesshoumaru. This man, Pein, just seems… unearthly. He talks and carries himself like a human being, but at the same time he's _not_ entirely human. Somewhat an intelligent corpse, like Kikyou was, yet not really, either… Hrm.

"A juvenile boy several years younger than yourself," he enunciates in that spine-chilling, imperative tone, "will soon arrive at these headquarters."

Now where is he heading with this conversation, I wonder. Not missing a beat, I reciprocate, "And what of this boy?"

"He is uncooperative and obstreperous at best. It is unlikely that he will do anything but sulk out of defiance once he is brought here. You are to amend that." Pein then turns and starts walking away with composed, deliberate steps. A head of **orange **emerging from the collar of a mysterious black cloak.

From the sounds of things, it seems to me that someone is about to be dragged into Akatsuki against their own will. So this odd organization isn't above kidnapping others, is it? Huh, surprise surprise. Wait, did he say—?

"Hold it!" I exclaim, holding my arm out for an added effect. "Why me?"

**Orange**-haired Pein doesn't even bother to turn back to me and continues on his steady path. "Because you are a woman."

How does _that _make sense? Just because of my gender I'm supposed to be able to placate some rowdy kid that doesn't even want to be here? Plus, I've seen one other female around this secluded hideout; she has blue hair and a silver piercing under her lip. Since she's an _actual_ member of Akatsuki (judging by the cloak she wears), it's more so her duty than mine to do things that will benefit the group, right?

And just as I am about to voice my displeasure Pein slips into the foreboding darkness of the distant hallway, shrouded by the shadows.

But, creepy enough, though I can't discern him with my eyes, his final words somehow reach my ears.

"…and because you are kind."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

iii — **yellow**

I'm trying to smile at this brooding kid, I really am, but my lips just appear strained. This blond boy, sitting on the frigid stone floor with his arms crossed over his chest, glares daggers at me with a narrowed azure eye. He can't be any older than fourteen—even younger than Itachi! In the beginning before I was even thrown into this empty room with him, I imagined he would be scared out of his wits after having been coerced into an illegitimate organization like Akatsuki (I'm sure they hadn't 'convinced' him too nicely into joining). On the contrary, he doesn't seem afraid at all, just cross and angry as if he had just suffered a terribly ignominious defeat. In a way, I'm reminded of Shippou and how he usually looked whenever things didn't go his way. I can't help but smile a genuine, melancholy smile.

Deidara, which is what his name is apparently, takes notice, and he demands with a peevish scowl, "What? What are _you_ so happy about?"

I resist the urge to wince in response to his sharp tone, and meekly raise a hand in greeting. "H-hey there, Deidara-kun," I say, mustering up the courage to continue, "I'm Kagome."

He tilts his head to the side, frowning, his azure orb appraising me. Not long after, he snaps his head away so fast that his long **yellow-**golden hair performs a whiplash on his cheek before falling back down into place. His green-clad forearms are still folded in front of him and show no signs of budging.

Sighing mentally, I spare a glance at the lantern providing us light and meager warmth from atop a low wooden table in the center of the room, and see how flames of red and **yellow **fuse together to create a startling new entity. But I'm just scrabbling to buy time for myself and I know it, so I tear my gaze away and take into consideration the hostile blond male in my presence. Just how the heck do I keep landing myself in these kinds of predicaments? I approach him with slow steps, closing the gap between us, cautious not to surprise him with any sudden jerky movements. His nose stays high up in the air, signifying his rejection of me. I can't help but think again, how he stirs up the image of Shippou in my head. The young kitsune had displayed a similar attitude when I first met him; in the end it had been because he was hurt, and fearful. Maybe right now, Deidara was, too. I think I could understand.

I sit down in front of him, tucking my legs in beneath me. He still refuses to look at me, and I wonder if he's not tired from holding his head up that certain way for so long. Again, I see Shippou and the child youkai's stubbornness in him—and I know what I can do for him. Raising my arm, I gently place a palm on a head thriving with **yellow**-hued locks. I feel Deidara stiffen under my touch, but I don't pull back. Instead, I speak to him the words I had spoken once, well over a year ago.

"Don't worry," I tell him in a soft tone with a reassuring smile, "you'll be all right."

He cracks open a single blue eye, and gauges me with it for a long, silent minute. Then he closes it again. "Hmph."

I run my fingers through his **yellow**ish hair, because Shippou had squirmed with pleasure whenever I did that, and judging by Deidara's lack of objection he might be enjoying it, too. But it's me who is probably affected the most by this simple gesture, because tears spring up in my eyes as I think about the kitsune child I was forced to leave behind.

…it is later that I discover Itachi was the reason for Deidara's bitter mood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

iv — **green**

Zetsu really could pass with the concept of a plant-based youkai, I think. He looks nothing like a normal human being, that's for sure—not to be rude, just saying. When I first met him I was positive that he was staring me down with the glowing eyes of a voracious predator; I'm pretty used to it after nearly getting devoured by dozens upon dozens of demons in the Feudal Era. Though with the latter, I was always able to purify their scaly behinds to the netherworld, or at least sting them painfully with my inherent holy powers. I don't believe I can defend myself, however, in the same fashion in regards to this particular **green **case.

B-but, well… Itachi will protect me, right? Yeah—_yeah_! Sure he would… he couldn't have whisked me away from Konoha only to have me end up as lunch for a ginormous venus fly trap…

When I make a hasty turn around the corner of the gloomy hallway, I accidentally bump into another more masculine figure. I bounce back out of reflex, rubbing my poor, victimized forehead. Opening my eyes, I see only the front of the Akatsuki cloak, and tilt my chin up to see who I had collided with. Lucid, **green **gem eyes regard me, the annoyance in them evident. A pitiful little squeak passes through my lips, and I jump back. I try to calm myself, telling the inner Kagome that this isn't Zetsu about to gobble her up.

Kakuzu doesn't bother to greet me nor even ask if I'm all right, he just utters a muffled, "Watch where you're going, princess," and steps around me to get to his destination.

I stick my tongue out at his back, half expecting any moment for him to turn and place his terrifying **green **gaze on me again. He doesn't, and soon disappears from my vision, his feet making no audible sounds on the stone floor. Satisfied to have him gone, I go about my own way as well. I can't help but note that in the direction from which Kakuzu just came from, the torches on the walls are put out, and menacing shadows swallow up the path ahead. My mind conjures up various frightening scenes, those depicting murder, ghosts, monsters, and instantly recalls in the snap of a finger all the horror stories I've ever heard in my lifetime. Funny how after everything I've been through, I'm still pretty terrified of unlit places.

I will myself to advance forward, if only so I can prove to myself that I'm not such a coward as I'm acting. In a desperate attempt to allay my fear of the unknown, I envision the color **green **in my mind—it's been terrorizing me quite so all day today. (How I ever adored that color and even wore it for days on end was now a mystery to me.) I gulp, but my method of projecting my current fear onto something else seems to be working. My legs are moving and getting me places, albeit rigidly. Never mind the fact that they're quavering, just a _teensy_ bit.

_Ugh, what's that smell…? _I wonder, my hands shooting up to cover my nose. This awful stench is filling my nostrils, and I feel like I could puke on the spot. Also, just _what _is that under my feet? It's sticky and slimy and _gross_. "What was Kakuzu doing here?" I mutter in a nasal voice under my breath.

"Well, fuck! Is that you, Kagome? Oh, thank Jashin!"

"Hidan?" I answer, recognizing the familiar voice and crude manner of speech. "Are you here?"

"No shit! Help piece me back together, yeah?"

"What? Piece you back toge—"

It was then that the torches decided to become fully functional again, and sprang to life with lambent flames. It was also then that I realized what I had been stepping around in for the past few minutes, and where the rotten _odor _was emanating from. Hidan's bloodied head was detached and lying sideways on the crimson floor, a few inches before my toes. His eyes were frantic and wild with relief as he looked up at me. Slabs of clothed meat that were his body parts were strewn all over the area, with decorative wet splatters of vermillion on the walls to add to the ambiance.

"Thank Jashin," the silver-haired man repeated breathlessly, "that sick, parsimonious fuck was going to leave me here to rot and mold, but you're here—"

I couldn't hold it in; before I knew it, bile was amassing rapidly at the back of my throat and I vomited. On Hidan's severed head.

"…fuck me."

Again, I was seeing so much **green**.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

v — **blue**

These days I've been questioning many things… things I probably won't ever be able to figure out no matter how hard I try. (Not too different from the annoying math equations that used to always plague me years before.) I find myself on a perpetual mission, searching for something, an answer that can finally put me at ease; what is it? Even though this may sound redundant, I really _don't know_. But deep, deep within me, I _do _know the truth to it all: those answers, the ones I seek, will always be dangling just out of my reach—forever lingering at the tips of my outstretched fingers, grazing against them lightly. When did I start feeling so unhappy, so unsatisfied, with so much more to desire?

Akatsuki is a ruthless, self-serving criminal organization—I can't, and won't, try to argue against that fact. In spite of their label, they treat me very well for "S-class rogue ninja." Or at least, the more bloodthirsty members refrain from killing (or eating…) me. Though the mattress could be an inch thicker and the pillow a few feathers fluffier, there's not a single day where I have dark bags under my eyes from sleep deprivation. Nor one where my stomach rumbles loudly, demanding I tend to its emptiness. An evening without a rejuvenating dip in clear, **blue **water is practically but a bad memory for me now. All my needs are met here, more or less, and though these ninja are not the most friendly and playful of types, I still get an adequate amount of socializing done one way or another. Enough to keep me happy.

…though, am I really happy living this way? Sure I'm _okay_, but—

Maybe, maybe I _miss _those sleepless nights, the ones where I would get so cranky and irritable that I'd 'sit' Inuyasha for even the smallest of offenses (like saying I seemed to have gotten 'rounder' after my prolonged stay at home). And whenever my trusty yellow bag suddenly ran dry of ramen noodle cups, we would all be starving and foraging for food in the nearest located village. Miroku's slick talk and conman methods always proved handy during unexpected trials such as those.

Sure, it might have felt horrible to drag my aching feet along the dirt roads and ascending hills with an empty tummy to boot, but you know what? When we finally got to sit down at a table and eat, the food was _sure_ to taste ten times better than usual. Wait, no, make that _fifty_. Even if there was nothing but a stone bowl of vegetable stew and half-cooked rice set in front of me, that hardly made a difference. It was just as good as the food back at home.

Sango and I always had to embark on mini-adventures just to come across a tiny hot spring that could barely fit five people at once. But even then, the rising steam and heat worked wonders for our scratched and bruised skins, and the dimmed **blue**-esque skies observing us from above, radiating with countless tiny stars, were the grandest for our gazing eyes. Of course, the sky wasn't the only thing observing us more than half the time. A certain perverted monk always managed to wind up knocked out for the rest of the late hours. Thinking back on all these precious memories and more, I think I know what it is that's been bothering me.

_Am I still alive? _

I mean… is it really all right for me to stay here, in Akatsuki's hideout, like this? I haven't stepped foot outside of it for over three years; I was told not to because it would endanger (probably more like _trouble_) them. They may be villains with dubious agendas that I don't even know about, but even so they're my friends. Although they don't greet me with hugs or gossip about the latest fashion, or share private inside jokes with me, they're all I've had since the evening Itachi brought me here with him. Why did I even say yes to him…? How silly for me to wonder that, because I already know why.

_I need you by my side._

Because he said that he needed me, whatever it is he needs me _for_. Me, Higurashi Kagome. That in itself had been more promising than the prospect of residing in Konoha for the rest of my life as just 'another citizen'. I would eventually be forgotten—just another face in the huge crowd—but Itachi would never forget me. He needs me; he told me so.

Thinking from a logical perspective, I really have lost all my marbles, haven't I? Can you blame me though? I'm just some crazy girl—_woman_ now—who defied the dynamics of time and space by hopping into a decrepit old well and surfacing in a totally contrasting environment. I fought tooth and nail against man-eating youkai, and missed out on school and normal life to piece back together this troublesome jewel called the Shikon no Tama. At the end of my not-so-magical journey, I was thrust into another foreign place and given no hopes of returning to either the Modern or Feudal Era. Family and friends are scarce for me in this ninja age, so I want to cling on to whatever I can manage. The company of a crime syndicate, one that acknowledges me (pleasantly or not) for my individuality, is better preferred than that of a crowd of villagers that will pass me by without a glance—

I can't believe I've become like this.

"Kagome, stop."

I feel a hand land on my forearm, and metaphorically pull me back to present-time reality. My own hands feel as though they're burning as I maintain an ancient skill, utilized by holy advocates in the past, to heal the graver wounds of their patients. There is a diffused pink glow centered between my palms, its warm bright lights peeking out through the gaps of my fingers. Right underneath it is torn **blue **flesh, steadily mending itself back together. Sweat makes my hair stick to the sides of my face, and my stomach feels sort of queasy, but I don't quit trying even as Itachi squeezes my arm in warning.

"You'll overtax yourself in this manner," he says to me calmly.

"Get your hand off me, Itachi," I demand of him in return, trying to keep an equally composed tone as I focus on the wound. "I didn't learn this technique not to ever use it, you know."

As stoic as ever, he counters, "Your body cannot handle it."

"I never asked for your help," Kisame chimes in, looking down at me with nonchalance. It's amazing how he leans back in his seat so casually, seeming indifferent to the pain in his bloodied, damaged leg.

Through gritted teeth, I retort, "I'm _going_ to do this, so both of you just stay quiet until I'm done." Recalling all the information I imbibed from the dilapidated scroll Itachi brought me months before, I concentrate my powers just so as I learned, and the pink sphere morphs into a swirling, transparent **blue** ball. The strain on my body increases, but I do my best not to let it show on my face.

"Just what is it you are trying to prove?" Itachi asks me, his tightening grip betraying his stolid façade.

Kisame is silent, but I know he's watching me too, awaiting an answer.

"That I exist," I answer. Almost as an afterthought, I add, "This pain, this hardship—it validates that I'm alive." My determination solidifies, and I further increase the energy output.

The **blue** shark-like shinobi snorts in contempt.

Itachi's grip on me slackens.

I smile a weary but true smile, feeling so alive for the first time in years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

vi — **indigo**

Carefully running my fingers down damp **indigo **locks, I marvel silently at their incredible softness. Even with all the enhanced products and solutions in my original time, I could never achieve such a thing with my own rebellious hair. Some people are just born with superior genes, aren't they? The tips of my fingers come to a halt at the back of a thin, porcelain neck that is bared to me. I reach back with my hand and grab hold of a tall bottle nearby, her favorite shampoo. Squeezing out a generous amount on a slick palm, I place the container back where it originally was and proceed rubbing my hands together with the gooey formula in between. I massage the other woman's scalp, spreading the sticky liquid all over her short hair, working it into a lather. Her stiff shoulders appear to relax, and her body dips into the water as I continue my ministrations.

"Any luck with completing your personal assignment yet?" I ask with a smile, concentrating on a particular spot I know she likes having stroked.

After a moment of thought, Konan replies, "No. Nothing yet." Her voice has a slight, faraway tinge, and I imagine that she's closing her eyes in tranquility. I don't know the details of Akatsuki's latest string of missions—though it all seems very important from the occasional mentions I hear—but I do know that the members are required to _collect _something specific. I'll admit, I am a little curious, but whenever I ask Itachi about it he diplomatically brushes me off. If I go to Deidara with my question, he'll change the topic and ask me with enthusiasm if I want to see his newest artwork pieces instead.

I get second thoughts on approaching Kakuzu, Hidan and Zetsu for obvious reasons, and basically, going to any of the others will yield me no favorable results. I haven't even attempted it with Konan. If it's so secretive and _big _like everyone seems to make it out to be, maybe I'm better off not knowing. To be honest, I don't want to ruin the significant relationship I share with the sole female member of Akatsuki.

She's somewhat similar to Sango in a way, and we often share baths together too. (I think she enjoys having someone touch her hair and wash it for her.) Like the demon slayer, Konan is an austere woman who doesn't speak unnecessary words. Every action she makes is so full of purpose, and she gives off a vibe of elegance that you sort of just come to respect. I've learned a while back that her favorite hobby is flower pressing, and that's mainly all she does in the privacy of her own room. As I sweep my hand in a final gesture over foam-layered **indigo** hair, I wonder what this graceful woman is doing in such a notorious organization.

"There," I say, submerging my hands in water to rinse them of the bubbly substance. Now that it's my turn to treat myself, I reach backwards for the bottle again.

I expected Konan to dunk her head under the warm surface, but instead she rises and turns to me, and, without missing a beat, plucks the tall container from my hand.

"It's your turn," she remarks in an almost disinterested voice, a fluffy trail of white trickling down her cheek. Her amber eyes are half-lidded, and I find myself wanting to protest.

"You don't have to—"

"I wish to," she cuts me off primly, twirling an index finger mid-air, instructing for me to show her my exposed back.

Unable to come up with a good excuse not to, I turn reluctantly in the water, and the sound of miniature waves ring in my ears as I face the wall. I feel Konan place her hands on my head (it's amazing how soft they are, though she's a ninja), the shampoo liquid cold beneath her palms. She moves her hands over my scalp, while lifting my long hair up from the water and gathering everything into a messy unified ball of ebony tresses and foam.

A small, satisfied smile tilts across my lips and my eyelids grow heavy as I absentmindedly study the wallpaper pattern in the bathroom. I think, I can appreciate those painted **indigo **flowers, that are scattered here and there in a certain pattern, better now. Closing my eyes, I dream a light, conscious dream; my mind weaving together a nearly forgotten image of Sango and I at a remote hot spring, washing each other's hair and laughing together (probably over something ridiculous Miroku did).

"Thank you, Konan," I murmur under my breath.

I don't think I could quite understand what she said next in response.

"My parting gift to you, Kagome."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

vii — **violet**

Everything in our world has meaning, whether naturally or because people need items of symbolization. Throughout my lifetime I've heard many different things about the color **violet** and what people perceive of it. Some say the mere sight of it stirs up inspiration, so writers and painters and those in need of just that often have flowers of its hue posted somewhere in their work area. Some say it epitomizes individuality and uniqueness; old Kaede once told me that it constitutes spirituality, and that it helps us get in touch with our deeper subconscious thoughts. Empathy, controlled emotion, the respectable and distinguished, impracticality, immaturity, dignity, the cynical**—**the list goes on and on. Leave it to humans to over glorify things they consider beautiful, ne?

If anyone asked me what _I _think it represents, I would say "fantasy and future." Corny, I know, but I've seen the specific color so often during my visits to the Feudal Era (from the Well's glow, to the iridescent lights my arrows sometimes emitted), that I can't help but relate it to my past mystical adventure.

On the other hand, for Sasori, **violet **more than likely equates _poison_, and lots of it I'm sure.

I stand on the opposite side of his operation table, my arms loaded with sharp tools and necessities that he asks for on occasion as the torturous minutes steadily tick on by. There is a puppet between us (it looks so real and human-like that I'm afraid to ask _what _it's made from), its vacuous eyes staring up at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. I ended up here in a pretty unceremonious fashion, and I pray that I'll be out really soon. All these lifeless, adult figures propped up on the stone walls with nothing but a candle flame casting intimidating shadows upon their faces is super creepy and nerve-wracking.

I never mixed too well with horror movies, especially ones involving killer dolls. I'd rather be with Zetsu than in this room**—**and that's saying a _lot_.

I'd just been minding my own business in the hallway, waiting for Itachi to come out of his room and entertain me, when Sasori came slithering by in his large puppet (Hiruko, I think he called it). All I did was greet him to be polite, and next thing I knew he had wrapped an invisible string around my wrist and began _dragging_ me with him to the direction of his room. He didn't even offer me an explanation of what he was planning on doing, he'd just said in that raspy, coarse voice of his, _If you have time to waste dawdling, you'll make yourself useful instead_. Try and try as I might, I was unable to detach myself from him and his imperceptible string (and the more I struggled, the tighter it got around my wrist; I soon gave up in worry of having my hand's circulation cut off…).

So now here I am, watching him in his "true form" pour an enormous jug of gooey **violet **liquid into the inner compartment of his puppet. _Gug, gug, gug,_ it goes. A bitter smell accumulates in the air, and a dizzying sensation momentarily takes over me. When I manage to blink it away, I realize Sasori is staring impatiently at me, a demanding hand held out before him.

"The _scalpel_," he says in a crossed tone, as if he had already asked for the darn thing ten times before.

"…oh." Then my head spins back into place, and I repeat with more clarity, "_Oh_—sorry, here." I hand it to him, the sharp side held in my hand as a safety precaution.

Sasori eyes it for a fleeting moment, probably laughing in his head at my expense. Not like a human-puppet could be harmed in such a way, but oh well, I did it out of habit and etiquette, all right?

He takes it and hunches over his current project, tinkering with its insides, unperturbed by the pool of **violet **located inches below his eyes. I unconsciously wince, imagining against my own will how it would feel to have deadly poison so close in proximity to my own frail eyeballs. They're already watery and irritated, and I'm nowhere near the pernicious stuff (which may very well be worse than _Naraku's_ miasma). I believe Sasori noticed my discomfort.

"How would you like for your body to be reformed into that of a puppet's?" he says placidly, not bothering to look up from his work. "Then you could do away with such petty weaknesses."

My eyes grow wide in shock, and my arms suddenly go limp. All the well-crafted tools I'd been holding, in so mindful a manner, plummet straight to the floor and cause a distressing racket not unlike that of nails raking across a chalkboard.

Sasori is frozen on the spot, hovering over his puppet, stiff.

I scramble out of his workshop, escaping before that crazy shinobi decides to add me to his doll collection.


	8. Chapter 8

epilogue — **b l a c k o u t**

* * *

><p>eranda michi ga moshi ikitomari nara soko de<br>mayoeba ii

_if the path you have chosen reaches a dead end,_  
><em>then why not lose yourself there?<em>

* * *

><p><em>Why is this happening, Itachi…? <em>

_Kagome, you must stay here. This is where you will be safe.  
><em>

_Safe? From what? _

He didn't answer me, and I figured him placing his hands on my shoulders was the closest thing I was getting to an apology.

_Don't, _I whispered softly to him, _don't leave me alone.  
><em>

_I'll return for you. _

My vision clouded over and my heart felt pained, my throat constricted. Yet, as I looked up into unfaltering ruby eyes, I realized he would remain impervious to any and all my pleas. My hands knotted into distressingly taut fists, the rounded bones of my knuckles threatening to emerge free of their fleshy prison. Breathing evenly through my nose proved too great of a hardship to maintain, and I found myself inhaling and exhaling in rapid intervals through the slit of my mouth. It was loud, but I was only vaguely aware. My composure had long since slipped. **  
><strong>

"You—you said you _needed _me," I now remind him, my voice laced with rare desperation.

Itachi's eyelids lower halfway and he gazes down at the front of my clothing, pensive.

I take it that he's considering my words, and in earnest continue, "I'll be fine anywhere, as long as you're nearby. I can help too, I'm _not_ dead weight—" I stop, my breath hitched in my throat. Itachi slowly leans into me, his face inching closer to mine and I can only watch with wide, startled eyes. I shut them tight, anticipating something magical that I've never experienced before, merely dreamed of. It is when I feel another human being's heated breath dancing across my trembling lips that my heart seems to malfunction in its natural routine.

"That is why I will return," he tells me in a low murmur, his words warm and drifting into the cavern of my slightly opened mouth.

Then he withdraws his hands from me and steps back to disappear among the shadows. My daze, which doesn't evaporate soon enough for me to call after him, degenerates to numbness.

My only remaining company is that of the stench of mildew and water drops dripping from hanging stalactites, and moist, humid air. Everything is **black**.

…

…

…

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_—

Somewhere within this wretched cave an omniscient clock resides, ringing in my ears with the mechanical pulsing that is its language. A few days prior I dismissed it for the liquid beads that continually drip off the sharp tips of overhanging stalactites, but now I know better. The automated hand that I can't see ticks itself away in a slow, ruthless melody. An ugly little creature inside me—one that claims to go by the name of Doubt—whispers incessantly to me that it is my life's countdown I am hearing; that after the final _tick_, I will perish and decompose in this hellhole for the fungi to feast upon.

But I fight it, and I fight against myself in this forlorn place, repeating to myself in a cracked, strangled tone: _No… he'll come back for me, I'm sure of it. He needs me—he told me so!_

In spite of my trying efforts, Despair preserves its viselike hold around my neck, cackling with pure spite even as I lower my forehead to my kneecaps in pure defeat. Its grip is suffocating and its cruel laughter melds with Doubt's fiendish chanting.

"He needs me… he told me so…" I assure myself once again, this time verbally, while wrapping my arms around my legs in a hopeless attempt at self-comfort. I sniff, and the back of my throat burns, but I force the fire back down my esophagus. It settles down at the bottom of my hollow stomach, which in turn cries out, moody, from lack of nourishment (only to be ignored). I close my stinging eyes, willing myself to imagine whatever—_anything—_that can pacify and encourage me to go on to endure yet another lightless day.

_Tick._

Itachi and his _red_ Sharingan eyes, the tomoe spinning perfectly into place; two bloody seas that make up his gaze.

_Tock._

The flaming _orange_ of Pein's short, spiky hair, which had always caught my attention in the dark corridors of the hideout.

_Tick._**  
><strong>

_Yellow_, the hue of Deidara's soft locks—only for me to admire, once he grew from a boy into a man, and no longer touch.

_Tock._

The _green_ of Zetsu's leaves and Kakuzu's shining glower, whenever he dismembered Hidan for someone to piece back together again.

_Tick._

Kisame and his _blue_ pigmented skin, and his occasional wounds from close combat that I'd always insist on healing at first sight.

_Tock._

My bathing partner, Konan, who had little to say and much duty to uphold; the _indigo_ flowers on her bathroom walls.

_Tick._

Sasori and his _violet_ jug, slaving away on his newest puppet addition.

_Tock…_

Those colors—those _people—_are absent now, and I am alone in this **black**ness. I want to regret; wallow in my regret and draw bitter solace from it__.__

"Anything is better than this," I mutter dejectedly, my hands finding a snug area between my face and my knees. "…_when are you coming back for me, Itachi_?"

_—_but no, it's far too late to regret, and I won't.

Instead, I'll wait for him: _the one who needs me_.

Unbidden tears slip past the gaps of my fingers and soak into the bedraggled fabric of my clothing.

…

…

…

Then—the entrance is cleared; I hear the massive boulder being shifted aside by the usage of a powerful jutsu. I perk up instantly, and upon realization scramble to my feet, the aftertaste of deep slumber heavy and obnoxious in my mouth. My limbs are almost without sensation and protest against the sudden jerky movements, but I spare no real concern for them. All I know is that I am perfectly mesmerized by the vibrant morning light spilling in, pausing in its venture just before the tips of my feet. I look up, shielding with a forearm my wearied eyes, which are still getting accustomed to the beautiful golden beams of warmth and salvation.

The clock has finally stopped ticking for me, and I am elated.

There is a **black **figure before me, bathed in promising sunlight, and I greet him happily: "Itachi, you_—_"

Yet to my horror, the unforgiving clock stirs back to life again. This time it's different. It's broken.

_Tick_—_tick_—_tick_—_tick_—_tick__—_

"So this is where he was hiding you."

The hands of the clock are stuck, unable to proceed forward, ticking in place. Faster, and faster, and my heartbeat contends with it in tempo.

_Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick_—__

"No… no…" I breath out in a shaky tone, backpedaling until my back is pressed up against a frigid, uneven wall. A cold drop of water falls from above and strikes the tip of my nose. I panic. "_No—_!"

"Kagome-san!" the intruder greets mirthfully with an animated wave, reassuming their usual demeanor. "I've been looking _all _over for you!"

"S-stay away from me," I stammer, scanning the now visible floor for anything sharp that could work as a makeshift weapon.

"Is something the matter?" he asks me in a sickening, sweet voice, stepping forward with a raised hand. "Should I check your forehead's temperature for you, Kagome-san?"

"_Stay away, Tobi_!" I all but screech at him, diving for the fallen piece of stalactite I spotted several feet to my right.

But it's useless. This deceptive man_—_I highly doubt his name is Tobi_—_is a swift shinobi, and I end up on my belly with both my hands pinned above my head under his blue sandal. He keeps it there and doesn't think twice about grinding his foot hard into my fingers. I bite down on my tongue, hard enough to draw blood, refusing to grant this man the pleasure of hearing me cry out in pain. I had known… I had _known_ from the beginning that he gave off a bad vibe. And I had done nothing but do my best to avoid him altogether.

"Why are you here?" I demand of the devious character, snapping my head around to glare at him with hardened eyes. The taste of copper is strong in my mouth, but that's nothing compared to what I feel when I see a _red_, unmistakable glow from the single hole in his orange mask. "…Sh_—Sharingan_?"

"Regrettably, it seems Itachi's wings of protection will no longer overshadow you," he remarks conversationally with his _true _voice, surveying me through the lone circular view.

"Itachi_—what have you done to him_?" I growl, my fear displaced by anger. I struggle to free myself of his foot, to no avail.

Hand in chin, he muses, "And I can't have you hindering Sasuke's progress, no."

I freeze. Sasuke… Itachi's _younger brother_, Sasuke?

"Little Sasuke-kun?" I whisper gravely, staring up at the unperturbed man. "_Uchiha _Sasuke?"

"Not when I've already told him that Itachi's slain his lover back in Konoha. It'd be _much_ too problematic if he ran into you now."

"What are you plotting, you_… you despicable man_!" I shout with resounding vehemence, paying no mind to the unnerving fact that he appears lost in his own serene thoughts.

Finally, he looks down at me_—_

_Tick tick tick tick tick_—__

_—_and his bloody, wicked eye smiles, arching.

"Farewell, Higurashi Kagome, time traveler," his Sharingan glows ominously, the tomoe spinning into place… "And Itachi's lover."

So many things whiz through my mind, all as the omniscient clock ticks out of control in the backdrop. So many things I want and need to ask, the first being: _Time traveler? How did you__—_

The world flashes red hot, and soon settles down with a murmur into everlasting darkness.

But before I **blackout**, I see the fuzzy image of a pale hand held out towards me, the tips of its fingers painted crimson.

I reach for it.

_Itachi, I…  
><em>

* * *

><p>sora wa tobenai kedo tsubasa nara ageyou<br>sore wa "mou hitori jyanai" to.

_though i cannot fly to the skies, i can give you my wings;_  
><em> they will say, "you're not alone anymore."<em>

—"Wings of Words"

* * *

><p>Story transferred from Serubix0SilverFeathersx0 to s e r p e r i o r.


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